Mirage of Flames
by Selene Antilles
Summary: On a trip to Calormen, Peter meets a beautiful fortuneteller who steals his heart. But what will happen when he must return to Narnia? PeterOC. Slightly AU.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or its characters

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or its characters.

A/N: This just sort of popped in my head and while I really wanted to write a Casue fic I figured a PeterOC couldn't hurt… ;-D

Prologue

Peter and Edmund Pevensie, Kings of Narnia, paused for dramatic effect at the top of the stairs. Loud cheers and hollering erupted from below them and wide grins broke out upon their faces. The two of them hurried down the steps to the gathered crowd, saddlebags slung over their shoulders and swords strapped to their hips.

"And we're off to the North, the blasted giants!" Edmund called out, tipping his head back. The crowd roared enthusiastically, always happy to accommodate their kings' egos with a little Narnian loyalty thrown in for good measure.

Peter swept Lucy off her feet in a crushing hug as Edmund kissed Susan on the cheek in farewell. The sisters looked far from worried, as the two men had fought much more dangerous enemies in the past. This campaign was nothing to lose sleep over. Peter and Edmund made their way through the crowd to their waiting horses. Without hesitation, the younger swung onto the back of his Narnian mount but a tug on Peter's sleeve held him back.

The High King turned to find a young woman with her hand on his arm. She had the dark skin of a Calormene and wore the elaborate costume of one as well. Her brightly colored veils draped mysteriously across her face, but by the spark in his eyes, it was obvious he recognized her. She moved with a startling feline grace and the crowd parted around her with the tangibly uneasy fear of an unloved queen. Some sort of ornament jingled, a hollow, lonesome note, and a tense silence fell over the gathered Narnians.

Peter stared into her eyes, facing what he feared. She reached one hand up and removed her veil, the other still fiercely gripping his arm. A quake ran through the crowd, disbelieving that the tradition-driven woman would show her face in public. A smile filled with unsaid shouts and impassioned anger slipped across her lips before she pressed them to Peter's. He seemed to have no defences against her and anxiously ran his hands over her bare midriff. Her arms curled around his shoulders, holding him in the way only a lover can. Finally, she pulled her mouth from his, only to thrust it against his ear. Those close enough collectively leaned forward, curiosity reigning over mistrust, and those too far away only tried to push in closer.

In an instant she was gone, disappeared into the throng, her veil once again concealing her face. Peter recovered quickly, only the touch of his fingers against his lips and a somber look in his eyes belying his inner thoughts, and heaved himself onto his horse. The horse shifted warily, sensing Peter's lack of confidence. He drew his sword from its sheath and raised it high above his head. With that gesture, the crowd let out a tremendous cry for Narnia and the Calormene tryst was forgotten in a flurry of excitement.

Susan and Lucy remained rooted to the ground, however, as the rest moved off with warrior kings. It wasn't unusual to see Peter flirting with a noblewoman or even to stumble across a carefree kiss or two, but this woman had been so passionate and intense it only led their minds to wander. A sort of fervent regret they had only seen a time or two, when Narnia was still fresh to them and they to their mistakes, threatened from his eyes, though they couldn't be sure to who.

_Please review, wonderful Narnia fans! (Hey, a little flattery will get you anywhere, right?)_


	2. Smoke and Mirrors

Wind swirled around Edmund as he made his way, head bowed against the fierce storm, to his brother's tent

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or its characters.

A/N: Now that I know where this story is going, it should get better… I hope everyone is happy with the longer chapter!

**Smoke and Mirrors**

Wind swirled around Edmund as he made his way, head bowed against the fierce storm, to his brother's tent. He burst into the surprisingly warm room, shaking off his coat onto a chair. Peter didn't even bother to look up, let alone offer some sort of greeting; he merely stared into the flickering flames of a swaying lantern, lost in thought. He lay across his cot, hands folded over the thin fabric of his tunic. Edmund waited a brief, impatient moment for him to speak, but as he flopped himself onto a stool, he found he couldn't contain his curiosity.

"What did she say?" he blurted out, tripping over his words and his accent.

"What did who say?" Peter stalled, the lantern still holding his fascination.

"The fortuneteller! Who do you think?" Edmund had never been one for pleasantries or dancing diplomatically around a tender subject. He had always just dived in.

Razor-thin lines in Peter's face deepened into a frown as he tipped his head to glare at his brother. "Mind your own beeswax," he snapped irritably.

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Well when she kissed you in front of all Cair Paravel, it _became_ my _beeswax_. So come on. What did she say?"

Peter sat up, tucking his knees against his chest. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, squinting in deep concentration. "It doesn't matter, Edmund," he murmured.

"You were completely fine with this campaign until… the incident. Obviously, whatever she said bothered you. You may be able to hide from your generals and your servants but you can't hide from me. 'Fess up, Peter boy," Edmund chided, leaning forward with his hands on his knees.

A heavy sigh preceded the long coming answer. "She kissed me."

"I saw that part. As did the rest of Narnia." Characteristic impatience crept into the younger man's voice as he spoke.

"She said I would be missed," Peter whispered, nearly choking on the words. Edmund strained to catch what was said and, finally doing so, sat back heavily.

"You don't really believe in all that fortunetelling nonsense, do you? I mean, she's a superstitious Calormene, not anyone capable of any real magic. Besides, everyone knows she's got a few loose screws," he pointed out, somehow wary and uncertain.

"You don't know the whole story, Ed," Peter said, cold steel forming the sounds. He rolled himself off the bed and flipped back the corner of his tent to reveal the beginnings of a torrential rainstorm.

"Then tell me the whole story, _Pete_," he shot back, folding his arms over his chest and far from willing to let Peter end the conversation.

Peter ran a hand over his face, relishing in the swirling, chilled wind against his skin. He had been rather too warm since leaving the castle, the taste and heat of the exotic enchantress still burning across him. He sighed, knowing his brother would never give up. "I broke her heart, all right? She has good enough reason to want me dead, beyond just being Calormene. She doesn't have a few screws loose, though she has a few too many devious ones, and capable of real magic she certainly is," he poured out in a rush.

Edmund blinked. "Magic? But she's just a carnival medium! She doesn't _actually _see the future," he rambled, "Wait. You broke her heart? Forsaken White Witch, when?" Peter's original confession finally registered in Edmund's brain and he cocked his head to one side in confusion.

"You remember that trip to Calormen about a year and a half ago?" Peter turned to face his brother, letting the curtain fall back against the cold and the wind. Edmund nodded his acknowledgement, so Peter continued. "I met her at a market in Tashbaan. She had no idea who I was and I found it a bit refreshing, I suppose…"

--

Peter wandered between stalls and vendors, casually inspecting the enticing goods for sale at outrageously high prices. He kept one hand hidden beneath his robes, clasped firmly onto the familiar hilt of his sword, and the cool, cotton cloth wrapped securely around his face to ward off the choking dust that filled the marketplace. It also served the useful purpose of hiding his light skin and dangerous identity from the nationalistic Calormenes.

He waved away a few zealous salesmen, uninterested in purchasing anything. No, he was in the marketplace for an entirely different reason. At the thought of the disastrous 'diplomatic' meeting with the Tisroc the night before, Peter cringed. Never before had he so dreadfully failed one of these courteously threatening visits. Usually, his show of power and a flash of a handsome smile worked him out of any tight squeeze. He had been unprepared for the hatred of Narnia that emanated from the entire court the moment he had stepped into the room, however. So, to be honest, Peter was meandering nervously through the foreign market to hide.

It wasn't that he didn't believe he could hold his own against one of the Tisroc's warriors, but he _didn't _believe he could hold his own against twenty of them. Had Edmund, or even Susan, been here, he would have taken them on without a second thought. But as the King and Queens were busy soothing the frayed nerves of the lands to the North after a particularly brutal attack by a group of minotaurs, he had been left to tend to the South on his own. He was cut off from his ship by ten guards and knew at least a score more were scouring the city for him. All this just because he had given a compliment to the Tisroc's daughter. Honestly, it had been meant in the most gentlemanly manner, but it seemed this daughter was a favorite of the ruler and he would not stand to give her away. Certainly not to a Narnia barbarian.

Peter glanced behind him, the black robes of his enemy catching his eye. He hurriedly stood on tiptoe, trying to see the best and nearest hiding place. A crimson tent caught his attention and he ducked inside, just in time. He sagged with relief before turning to survey his currently chosen exile. It took a moment for his gray eyes to adjust to the dim light in the tent, but when it did, he realized he had stepped into a fortuneteller's stall. Peter shrugged, figuring he had nothing better to do with his time, and so he stepped forward.

Slowly he focused on the Calormene gypsy sitting cross-legged on the floor before him. Gold ornaments at her ears, veil and top sparkled by candlelight and the sheer fabric of her dancer's garb left little to the imagination, intensely alluring in what it did.

She gestured to the pillow before her ball and he sat with the curiosity that had always led him to greatness. Her hands moved over the globe, golden bracelets jangling, and his eyes narrowed as it began to glow. Many times had he seen tricks such as this, but never had they been done so well.

"I see fantastic feats in your past, joy and family in your present, but much misery in your future." Her lilting voice washed over him, goosebumps appearing on his arms despite the heat that rushed over his body. "Confusion and misdirection all to an early death." He shivered at her words, finding himself barely able to concentrate.

The tension in his shoulders grew more taut at the gypsy's predictions, defiantly opposing his silent reminders that he had never believed in such nonsense. Peter, of all people, knew, though, that what was called nonsense, smoke and mirrors, a mirage, in his land could be the reality in another.


	3. Falling

"I see fantastic feats in your past, joy and family in your present, but much misery in your future

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or its characters – although I do own Mona!

A/N: Sorry this one took so long – last few days of school were insane!

**Falling**

"_I see fantastic feats in your past, joy and family in your present, but much misery in your future." Her lilting voice washed over him, goosebumps appearing on his arms despite the heat that rushed over his body. "Confusion and misdirection all to an early death." He shivered at her words, finding himself barely able to concentrate. _

Peter listened to the fortuneteller's voice but not her words, the knot in his stomach tightening with each syllable. Suddenly, he realized she was finished and was staring at him impatiently, her hand extended for payment. Peter knew the secluded tent was probably the safest place for him in the market and he found himself asking if she did palm readings as well, placing the money in her hand. She nodded and caught his fingers between her own, tugging him towards her. They both jumped at the contact, his eyes widening with surprise at the shock she gave him. She recovered first and turned his hand over so the back lay against her palm and uncurled his fingers with hers.

A shudder ran through him as she traced his love line with a painted nail. The slight pressure left a long white mark across his skin. For a moment she said nothing, her veil moving softly with her breath. Finally, she spoke. "You're in trouble. You need someplace to hide." Peter trembled, wondering if she knew that from his palm. The woman shook her head, looking up at him. "Not from your palm, from your eyes. They give you away."

He raised his chin, his pride a bit wounded by her statement. Her chocolate brown eyes caught his though and they held him captive, cornered. He felt exposed before her, as though she knew all the secrets locked in his heart just by looking at him. Peter held her gaze unflinchingly at first but wavered at the way she seemed to stare right through him to his very soul. It was unnerving and thrilling all at the same time, having someone know things about you even you don't know yourself. He found he couldn't tear himself away from her despite the fact it felt she was tearing him apart.

Abruptly, she stood, beckoning him with her. "Come. I have a place you can stay, rest. You will be safe there," she said, walking from the tent without hesitance. Peter was reluctant to follow, for fear she would unwittingly, or perhaps even wittingly, lead him directly to his enemies but walked after her anyway. It was as if he had no choice in the matter, such was her power. It wasn't a physical power or even a lustful power, merely some invisible thread between them. He knew from experience that everything happens for a reason and couldn't help but think he was supposed to enter this fortuneteller's tent.

--

The heavy fabric fell with a dull thud to the dusty ground almost before Peter was inside. He had to duck to enter the tent, his six-foot frame a bit overpowering to the commonly short stature of a Calormene. He glanced around the dark room, his grip tightening on his sword in characteristic caution.

"There's no need to be afraid here, Narnian," the psychic said from across the room, her voice filtering to him as if through a thick wall. He started at the reference to his home, fear gripping his heart despite her reassurances.

"What? You think you can show me your hand and not have me know where you hail from?" Suddenly she was at his side and he knew she was smiling for the first time. Her eyes shined up at him like the sequins at her waist and she gently placed her hand on his chest. The fear ran out of him as if by magic, leaving only weary tension and a nagging hunger.

Peter let himself be led deeper into the maze of a tent, the feel of her hand in his and the burning incense seering his senses addling the well-honed instincts of a king.

--

"What's your name?" he asked as he ripped a piece of bread in half, only just realizing he had no idea who this woman was.

She sat cross-legged opposite him, a tiny sliver of sun lighting her face. Her eyes scanned him a moment as though she wanted to be sure she could trust him, despite having let him into her home. "Mona," she finally replied.

They sat in silence for a good twenty minutes, comfortably sharing a meal. Standing, she cleared their places and, walking away, called over her shoulder, "The Tisroc's warriors are coming. If you'd like to see your brother and sisters again, I suggest you get in that chest over there." She nodded to the tall wooden box with her head and he followed orders, not bothering to ask how she knew who was after him and where they were, let alone that he had a brother and two sisters.

Peter climbed into the chest, knowing it was probably ridiculous. The Tisroc would have ordered his men to search high and low and a suspicious looking chest would certainly be the first place they'd look. But again, he couldn't help but trust her. There was something inexplicably attractive about this woman and the proud, young king had all but a slim chance of falling for her. In the dark, his hand brushed against cold metal and the next thing he knew he _was_ falling. Falling through time and space – no, just falling. Everything was black and cold and he felt a chill run through his bones. He could almost hear Aslan's disappointment in him that this was not somewhere he should be.

Suddenly he hit bottom with an unexpected force, flipping his head back so hard he almost guessed whiplash. A groan emanated through the damp cavern and he rolled over onto his side. Peter rubbed the back of his neck, forcing himself to crawl from the small space toward a dim glimmer of light. He ignored the pain spreading through his tired muscles with the determination he was so famous for on the battlefield.

The faint sound of running water spurred him on and he dragged himself from the crawlspace. Fresh air hit him full in the face and he lay there a moment until a steady drip of water on his forehead alerted him to the growing bruise there. He squirmed his way out into the cave, grateful for the cool air, clean water and undisturbed quiet. Gently, he splashed a few handfuls of water on his face, mindful of what he imagined was a rather hideous purple and green mark. Collapsing by the bank of the small stream, he fell asleep without ceremony or dignity, not caring for the moment that his royal image was probably rather tarnished in the eyes of this mysterious Calormene woman.

--

The tender touch of nimble fingers on Peter's bruise had him sitting straight up in reflex. "Wha?!" he mumbled inarticulately, his sword already half-unsheathed.

Mona stopped him with a hand on his. "Relax, Peter. You're safe. They're gone." Peter glanced around the cave, remembering his fall and the stream, though he didn't realize he had never told her _his _name.

His whole body sagged with relief, a stray wish for Edmund's help running through his mind. She helped him to his feet, her breath hot against her veil and his cheek, and any thought of Edmund vanished. "Sorry I didn't warn you about the drop," she murmured, though he could hear her smirk.

"Yes, well, I've had worse," Peter countered lightly, remembering with ferocity all the times his sister had tearfully poured her precious healing cordial down his throat.

--

Peter lie back against soft pillows, stormy gray eyes closed to mere slits and hands folded over his chest. He wondered at the Calormene wilds, within walking distance from Tashbaan but a whole world away. He knew the Tisroc would likely never find him here in this rough, untamed place. The cave was hidden beneath the cliffs where no one would think to search. Desolate, barren desert stretched before them, yet the oasis of crystal water and damp, green ferns that surrounded them seemed no contrast. Sheer white fabric fluttered in the breeze from the edges of a comfortably furnished tent, complete with bed and table.

Mona moved from the stream, his tunic dripping in her hands. She rung out the filthy garment, shaking off the water, and draped it over a log. Peter watched her move to his side and sit on the bed. He slipped his hand into hers, grinning as she jumped, unaware he was awake. Slowly he opened his eyes, focusing on hers. She traced her fingers over his palm and he remembered her predictions. _"Confusion and misdirection all to an early death."_

His breath caught in his throat as the words played through his mind. He bit his lip, tasting blood. Peter slowly brought a hand up to her cheek, rubbing the sheer fabric of her veil between his fingers. He had never understood why in the quiet interludes of battle, his men could most often be found in the arms of a woman. Certainly he had felt attraction and had sought comfort upon returning home, but never in the midst of the chaos, even if there was a brief hour of silence. Yet here he was, being chased down and hunted, with a craving for the taste of a stranger. He knew it couldn't last but if her ominous words held any truth at all, he really ought to enjoy himself.

At least that was the logic running through his mind as he boldly unhooked her veil. Mona didn't protest, just reached up to undo her hair. Her dark waves fell across her face and Peter painstakingly lifted himself from the mat to her lips. She pressed a hand to his conveniently bare chest, gently laying herself over him as he ran his own through her hair.

For a little while they forgot that he was High King of Narnia and she was a Calormene fortuneteller and just lost themselves in each other.


	4. Bloody Excellent

Days went passed without a care in the world

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or its characters. I do own Mona though!

A/N: Short and sweet (ahem – sorry about that). This is the last remotely fluffyish chapter though, before the angstiness sets in. I'm warning you, guys! I finally decided where this story is going and it's a tiny bit AU though I think I'm going to reconcile the book in at the very end to some extent and extremely angsty…

**Bloody Excellent**

Days went past without a care in the world. Vicious warriors faded to the background. Languid kisses and featherlight caresses were the only things Peter could have thought about if he'd tried. Never had he been so grateful to his useless diplomatic skills. After all, if he hadn't fudged the meeting with the Tisroc, he wouldn't be lying here now beside the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Nor would his fingers be tangled in her hair or his lips dancing across her neck. Mona's hands pressed against his face, fingers curling in pleasure. She tipped her head back against the pillow and he worked his way across the exposed skin.

"You know. _You_ know everything there is to know about me, but I don't know a thing about you," he murmured between kisses.

"Yes you do. You know my name is Mona. You know I'm a fortuneteller. And you know I'm, in your own words, 'bloody excellent', at this." She tilted his chin up with a forefinger to look at her and pressed her lips to his, rolling over on top of him as she did so. His hands fell to her waist, revelling in soft skin and the abandonment of duty and reason.

"Well, I guess that's three things then, hmm?" Peter whispered with a sly sort of grin.

She nodded, a single black curl swinging in front of her eyes. He reached up to tuck it behind her ear, the set of his mouth suddenly serious.

"Mona," he began, but she placed a finger across his lips, shaking her head.

"No, no, no. None of that." She silenced him with a look. His eyes grew dark as he kissed the tip of her finger and his palms tingled against her bare skin. He was sure she could feel the electricty between them, physical and not, just as they both had the first time they'd touched.

Again she pressed her lips to his, but it was softer this time and her eyes were open, searching his. Something new was hidden there, not just the lust and craving she had become used to over the past few days. Something she couldn't place. It had crept up on her without warning and now she found herself floundering in the depth of his gaze. Mona wasn't used to people seeing through to her heart. She liked to be in control and was accustomed to having the upper hand in any relationship. In her world, she was a mystery, working her magic, dark or light, in the shadows of the hot desert sun. She had power and strength. Yet here, in this foreign king's arms, she was naught but a lovestruck woman. She could feel the weight of him on her heart where he never was supposed to be. She wasn't supposed to fall in love.

Peter shut his eyes, parting her lips with hardly any effort and tasting the bittersweet wine still on her tongue from their lunch. There was something different in the way she kissed him just now, he knew. It was as though he were suddenly looking through her instead of her through him. Her barren emotions were laid raw before him, bloody and lacking pride. His senses were heightened so he could hear every ragged breath, feel every reluctant kiss, taste every drop of _her_. He knew he shouldn't be in love, not here, not now, but could feel himself falling as keenly as he had on his long, dark way to the cave. It was a physical power they held over each other; something borne of desire and grown in haste, yet that tied them in the frayed twine of love.


	5. How Wise Are the Stars

As they say, all good things must end

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or its characters, just Mona.

A/N: I know this one took forever but I had writer's block so thanks a bunch to BaileyBos who got me unstuck!

**How Wise Are the Stars**

As they say, all good things must end. And this was hardly good. That's not to say Peter hadn't enjoyed the hours, days spent trapped in the arms of a beautiful woman. But he could feel that it was wrong by the crushing pain in his chest every time he looked at her. He could almost hear Aslan's warnings echoing through the cave. Yet he ignored them. He ignored everything. For once, he was reckless and stupid and no good was going to come of it. Distracted by silken hair and liquid eyes, soft skin and a thousand kisses, he was quickly losing sight of Narnia, Aslan and his family.

Peter lay flat across the bed, basking in the warm air circling around him. The sheets were twisted around his waist, exposing his bare chest, and his hands were tucked behind his head. The breeze picked up a stray blond hair from his forehead, blowing it back. The light patter of footsteps on the rock above had him shifting to watch Mona as she ran down to him, her hair and veil fluttering out behind her.

A small smile crossed his face but the worry clouding her eyes stopped him. He sat up as she flung herself over his legs. Mona pressed her lips to his in what he imagined was supposed to be a brief kiss, tracing his ear with her fingertips.

Finally, she pulled away and breathlessly murmured, "There are Narnians coming. I sensed them when they came into the harbor."

"Narnians?! But they'll be killed!" he exclaimed in alarm.

She shook her head. "No, they've come well-prepared and disguised. They'll be fine." She began to slip her hand back into his hair, but he gently pushed her away, a look of deep concentration on his face.

"Is it just Edmund with them? Or Susan too?" he asked without realizing he was relying entirely on Mona's possible clairvoyancy. Peter was still a bit unconvinced, though she had never been wrong.

Mona pursed her lips, folding her arms over her chest in annoyance. "Both, I think. There was a woman with him. Come, Peter. You look terrible. Stop worrying," she implored him.

"Well of course I'm worried! My family's running right into trouble and-" Mona cut him off with a finger on his lips.

"Shhhh. They're going to be just fine, Peter. Relax." He sighed, his eyes drifting shut as she soothed away a growing headache with the tips of her fingers.

Hours later, as Peter sat with his feet in the stream musing on his predicament and gazing at the stars, he realized something. He realized that while he was relaxing in the cool water and a hot embrace, his family was walking straight into danger. Peter knew Lucy, Susan and especially Edmund would go to the very ends of the world for him. They would go anywhere, do anything to help him and even if it cost them their lives they _would_ rescue him. Yet he was doing nothing. Nothing short of murdering the only people in the world he loved. Peter glanced quickly over at Mona's sleeping form, lying curled against his pillow on the bed. Did he love her? The thought had crossed his mind once or twice whilst pressing tender kisses to her lips and trailing gentle fingers across her waist but he had left it in the wise care of the stars. Yet as he watched a traitorous cloud roll over the pinpricks of light in the sky, he wondered if they were so wise after all.

Mona groaned in her sleep and turned over, subconsciously reaching for Peter. When all she found was an empty pillow and tossed away sheets, her eyes fluttered open in confusion. She blinked a moment, rubbing the blur from her vision, before glancing around to focus on Peter sitting by the stream. She propped herself up on an elbow and called softly to him, "Peter! Darling, come back to bed. Not sleeping certainly won't help ease your mind."

Peter stood, brushing off his pants. He ran a hand through his light hair and folded his arms over his chest before coming to stand beside her. "Mona…" he trailed off, an unsteady sigh in his voice. She reached up a hand to his forearm, tugging him closer, before letting it wander up to his cheek. Out of force of habit, and perhaps just a touch of their original lust, he met her halfway. They had never eased into anything but preferred to jump feet first, so neither of them were caught off guard as Peter climbed onto the bed and settled himself over her. She adjusted so they were both comfortable and ran her own hand through his hair, all without a breath of air ever breaking their kiss.

He separated from her to catch his breath, though they were still only millimeters apart. "I thought you said not sleeping _wouldn't_ help," he murmured with most of a grin.

Mona shrugged. "I've been wrong once or twice," she whispered against his mouth. For some reason, the thought only served to trouble him more.

--

Mona rose with the sun but Peter's spirits sank further beneath the horizon. The tug on his heart he finally recognized as Aslan was pointing him towards home. Under any other circumstance, that would have been a welcome sign and joyous occasion for there was nothing he loved more than Narnia and his family, but the thought of leaving Mona felt something akin to having his heart crushed in his chest. When he thought about it for even the briefest of moments, however, he really didn't have a choice to make. Mona was a lovely girl that he would never forget but she was a fling. He winced at the term, knowing it was true. She was a lovely, beautiful, heartbreaking fling.

Peter felt more than heard her say his name from the rocks above; felt the shaky unwillingness to accept the obvious meaning of his Calormene clothes and the small pack slung over his shoulder. He glanced up at her, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand. She was a dark shape against the sky but he could instinctively see the hurt in her face. He jogged up to her, facing her as he would an opponent before battle. She crossed her arms and stared him down, steeling herself against the hurt, anger and twinges of love replacing the blood in her veins.

"I'm sorry, Mona. You knew I'd have to leave eventually." The words sounded harsher to his ear than he had meant them to.

She deliberated between begging him to stay and kicking him out. Her pride won but the bit of her that really did love him slipped out for a moment. Stepping forward, she clasped his face in her hands and kissed him as she never had before. Whether it was her subconscious asking him not to go or intentional salt in his open wounds, even she wasn't entirely sure. Peter revelled in her tongue against his lips, the bitter taste of spilt incense. Her fingers tangled in his hair before she roughly pushed him away.

Calming her heavy breathing she said with what felt like cruel irony, "Goodbye, Your Majesty. I foresee that you will have a lovely trip back to your land." With that she turned on her heel and marched back to the market.

Peter sighed, hanging his head. It wasn't in his nature to hurt a woman like this, for though she hid it well he knew she was stung and nursing an injured heart, but he could see no other way. He had to leave and there was no time for goodbyes.

--

"And you know the rest," Peter finished with a tired sigh. Edmund stared at him from his uncomfortable, little stool. The younger man swallowed hard and looked to the ground before answering.

"That's a hell of a story," he finally managed, rubbing his chin with his hand. "You really just left her like that?"

Peter sighed again, this time with even less conviction. He flopped himself onto the bed and resumed staring at the lantern. "Not the most chivalrous thing I've ever done," he admitted.

The two brothers sat in silence for what felt like hours until Edmund stood. "So she's a psychic, Pete. So she hates your guts. There isn't anything she can do to you. She can't touch you. You're a king!" He hurried from the tent before Peter could protest.

That night neither of them slept for fear of his life.


	6. Empty Shell

A homecoming is supposed to be a joyous occasion filled with banners, streamers and welcoming hugs and kisses

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Mona.

A/N: Okay. (takes a deep breath) This chapter was very hard on me, not because I had writer's block but because I knew if I didn't get it just right you were all going to kill me. I'd like to say right now that I adore Peter – adore him, you here? – and would never let anything happen to him. …At least not permanently… I'm warning you though – this chapter is going to incite angst, anger and the possible throwing of rotten tomatoes. But please wait for the next chapter before you come at me with pitchforks!! (ducks)

**Empty Shell**

A homecoming is supposed to be a joyous occasion filled with banners, streamers and welcoming hugs and kisses. There is supposed to be great fanfare and bright colors and smiles. Gloom and misery are not supposed to herald a victory. The rain had let up long enough for a rather bloody battle with the giants but had returned in full force. Through the streaks, the trees appeared a deeper green than usual, the sea a deeper blue. Gray covered the sky and blocked the view of anything surrounding Cair Paravel. Which was one of many reasons why the Queens were taken by surprise when Edmund and Oreius suddenly appeared out of the storm with an unobtrusively covered cart.

Water ran through Edmund's dark hair, plastering it to his forehead and obscuring the angry sorrow in his eyes. Lucy rushed out to meet her brothers, heedless of the rain and the wind. Her dress and hair clung to her skin but she paid them no mind.

"Your letter came over two weeks ago! You're late!" she chastised gaily from the steps. The young woman swung into her youngest brother's arms, expecting a chuckle and a kiss on the cheek but instead received a half-hearted pat on the back. Lucy pulled away in confusion, her brow knit.

"Ed? What is it?" She glanced around behind him. "Where's Peter?"

Edmund's jaw clenched; he wondered if the rain was sufficient to hide his tears then found he didn't care. He gestured miserably with one hand to the black cart, running the other over his face. Worry and suspicion crossed Lucy's face as she stepped between her brother and Oreius. With more than a trace of hesitation she pushed back the curtain and her heart snapped in half. Lucy had been privy to some of the ugliest battles in the history of the world. She had stitched on limbs and been covered in the blood of hundreds of patients, strangers, friends. Yet nothing could have prepared her for this. There was no blood, no gore.

Only the empty shell of her favorite brother. Mere death, without purpose.

Her scream echoed above the rain and through the palace. Lucy fled up the stairs before anyone could stop her. She skidded across slick floors, running as though her life depended on it, and slammed into Susan.

"Lucy! Lucy, what's the matter?" she demanded, grabbing her little sister by the shoulders.

Lucy choked on her sobs. "It's-It's- Peter-" she managed.

"They're back?!" Susan exclaimed, releasing Lucy before her anxiety registered. She turned to speed down the lonesome hall but stopped in her tracks to look her sister over.

Lucy shook her head as she found words impossible and motioned for Susan to stay where she was. She disappeared around a corner but quickly returned, her cordial clutched tightly in her fist. Susan's eyes widened at the sight of the all too familiar glass bottle and lifted her skirts to hurry after Lucy, panic filling her heart.

That panic was a breath of fresh air compared to the wrenching pain she felt at her elder brother, Peter, High King, leader and companion, without life, laughter or love left in him. Susan tripped over thin air and leaned heavily against the black wood beneath her brother. Her body, mind and heart went numb, fighting pitifully against the truth. Lucy yanked the top from the bottle, reaching forward to drop the red liquid against Peter's cold lips, but Edmund lunged forward to stop her.

"Lucy! You can't heal the dead!" Ed spat out harshly.

"I'll pour the whole bloody bottle down his throat if I have to!" she retorted, twisting out of his grasp. Susan stared at her, momentarily stunned at her severity. Lucy was the calm one, the rational one, even though the world thought of _her_ as Gentle. Again, Lucy moved with shaking hands to pour the precious fireflower juice between Peter's lips but this time Susan stopped her.

"Lucy." With just the soft inflection of her name, Susan communicated souls of grief and understanding to her. Lucy gave a curt, tear-filled nod and scrambled up to shelter as if just noticing the rain. She closed the cordial with a definitive clink.

Susan dully gave the order for Peter's body to be prepared for memorial and sent Edmund up to get some dry clothes and a little sleep. It wasn't until everything and everyone was taken care of that she lost it. She locked herself in her chambers and leaned against the heavy door, her palms flat on the rough wood. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and, sliding slowly down the door, she came to rest on the cold stones. She tucked her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her arms, wracking with sobs.

--

A sharp rap on the door unceremoniously broke Edmund's lachrymose concentration on a small tintype of his family. He threw a pillow across the room and, seemingly satisfied with the resounding smack it made against the wood, rolled off the bed. He yanked open the door to reveal his disheveled hair and dark circles to Susan. She valiantly tried to hold back her tears but at the look on Ed's face she let them go and reached for him. Sighing softly, he put his arms around her, rubbing gentle circles on her back. Susan sobbed into her brother's shoulder as he rested his chin on top of her head. They stood in the open doorway sharing their grief and pain for what might have been a lifetime. Servants scurried past, yet still they clung to each other. Finally, Susan pulled away far enough to look Edmund in the eye.

"What happened?" she asked, mustering enough courage to face whatever had stolen her brother, her rock, from her.

Edmund wiped the tears from her eyes with his thumb, though he didn't bother with his own. "He had a broken heart," he murmured.

"A broken heart? Ed, what are you talking about?" He stuck his head out the door to be sure no one was around before closing it softly.

With a heavy sigh he pulled her to the bed so they could sit and began to explain. "There was a stream by our camp and Peter had gone down to bathe. The rain started up again before he got back and he was caught in. The next day he came down with a cold. We blamed it on the rain. No big deal, right? Wrong. Next thing we knew he had pneumonia and we had to stop in what's well known as a place you just don't stop. Anyway, we were there for three, four days, and I was sitting up by Peter's bed. I guess I had fallen asleep when all of sudden I woke up to this god awful screaming. He was thrashing around, clutching at his chest, just screaming bloody murder. I couldn't get him to stop and neither could anybody else. Nobody knew what was wrong with him. He screamed for four days." Edmund squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of fresh tears. "And then he was gone. Just gone."

Susan lay back on the down comforter, staring at the ceiling as though all the answers could be found there. "But how? And who?"

"The fortuneteller. You know, the one that kissed him?" He grit his teeth. Susan nodded. "He was with her in Calormen, broke her heart. She returned the favor. A little more literally."

Susan's brow knit in utter confusion. "I don't understand. Ever since their little display I've had her under surveillance, just in case. She hasn't left the area since you did."

Edmund shook his head. "She didn't have to. Peter told me she had magic, though I have to admit I didn't much believe him until- this happened. I did a little research. It's a type of black magic practiced by the gypsy tribe she comes from that involves a small doll with a hex on it so that whatever happens to the doll, happens to a certain person as well."

Susan cocked her head to the side to meet his red-rimmed eyes. "Are you telling me she literally broke his heart? Crushed it in his chest?"

Nodding, he quipped, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." He reached a hand up to run through his wet, black hair.

"But how do you _know_ this is what happened, Ed? How are we going to prove an obscure woman killed the High King from the other side of Narnia?"

With a shake of his head he replied shortly, "We won't."

"Well if she really did it she can't go free!" Incredulity crossed Susan's face.

"She won't."

The distraught brunette threw her hands in the air. "Ed, if we can't prove it, she's going to go free!"

He abruptly slid from the bed and stepped into his attached study, slamming the door behind him. Susan followed, banging with her fist on the wood. "Ed! Ed, talk to me. What's going on?" she begged.

Without warning the door swung open and Ed glowered at her, anger seeping over his grief. "Don't worry about her, Susan. It's been taken care of." He pushed past her into the room, stripping off his wet shirt in favor of a dry one hanging from the wardrobe door.

"What do you mean it's 'been taken care of'? Ed. What did you do?" A dangerous calm settled into Susan's words.

"I did what needed to be done. Let it go, Susan." He finished with the buttons, tucked his shirt into his pants and, placing a hand on his sister's arm, gestured graciously to the door. "They will want a statement, Queen."

She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze hard and her jaw clenched, but smoothed her skirts and led the way. They were not the only ones who loved Peter. He was beloved High King to an entire country.

--

Mona gasped for breath, her hand pressed against the thin fabric of her blouse. Her dark eyes blinked open and shut, trying to focus on something other than white hot pain. She pulled her hand away only to find her own blood dripping from her fingers. Cautiously she lifted her head from the floor but only caught of a glimpse of the rosy pool she lay in before collapsing again. Mona sighed, long and deep. Flashes of her brief time with Peter burned behind her closed eyelids. Had she really ever loved him? This was a brilliant time to wonder such a thing, but she couldn't help herself. Had this really all been worth it? The treachery, deceit, murder of the man who had broken her heart? Or had it been a mirage from the very beginning? Smoke and mirrors, courtly tricks and child's play.

Mona would never know if she really had loved Peter or not. At least not in this life. For as she twisted her head to watch the fading form of King Edmund ride away from her with his sword still slick in its sheath, hers slipped from her.


	7. Darkness

Susan slammed the door to the library with a harsh bang before turning to glare at Edmund

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or its characters, only Mona, Gideon and the farmer.

A/N: Well, this is it. This chapter nearly killed me, (you may have noticed it took me forever as well as how long it is), but I finished it. Hopefully this is a satisfactory ending!!

**Darkness**

Susan slammed the door to the library with a harsh bang before turning to glare at Edmund. Her palms contacted with the dark wood of Peter's desk but she hardly noticed the sting. The numbness had returned to her body following her calm, collected, and grieving statement. Yes, the High King has passed away and the next two weeks shall be reserved for mourning. Yes, we are deeply saddened at this sudden turn of events. Yes, we are preparing a public funeral service. Yes, everything is being taken care of. _Yes, my heart is crumbling to dust. Yes, I'm lost. Yes… No… No… _

"What did you do?" she screeched at him, her throat closing even as she flung the words at him.

Ed set his jaw, his hand wrapping fiercely around the hilt of his sword. "It's not important, Susan," he insisted gravely.

"Oh, but I think it is, _Edmund_. See, if you killed that-that- _woman_ in cold blood and without proof that she had even known Peter, you're going to be put on trial. For murder. How would that look? The _Just_ King of Narnia on trial by his own people for _murder_!" Susan was shouting again, her voice a bit hoarse and fresh tears pouring from her eyes. "Don't you get it?"

"How would anyone know?" he demanded.

"Do you think I, of all people, could harbor a murderer?"

Incredulity flashed in his eyes. "So you will turn me in?" Neither of them even glanced up when the door suddenly opened and shut. Lucy marched across the room.

"Then you admit it! You _did_ kill her!"

Edmund threw up his hands even as Lucy shouted over their racket, "Stop it!"

The two older Pevensies looked to her wet cheeks and smudged makeup. Their faces softened and without a word they took her in their arms. The three stood there a moment, drawing on each other's strength. Yes, they had problems and, yes, those would have to be dealt with. But for the moment they needed just the thundering silence and knowledge that they were still a family, albeit slightly ripped.

The gentle click of the door locking behind them forced them apart. They tried vainly to appear composed but at the sight of their long-time friend and trusted advisor, Gideon, the three slumped. Gideon's eyes filled with pity. Where grace, elegance and strength usually stood was loss, misery and anger. For what was all that without magnificence? He sighed and moved to sit at the desk. Susan and Lucy sank into chairs and Edmund perched himself on the edge of the mahogany. Gideon cleared a spot amidst Peter's many papers and placed a leather binder in it. He opened it and pulled out several documents.

Taking a deep breath, he began, "This is your brother's will. I did not draw it up; he did it himself. As far as I know, no one knows what's on these papers-"

"Gideon." Lucy wearily held up a hand, halting his speech, before dropping her head back into it. Her elbow rested on the arm of the chair and her other hand was clutched in Susan's.

Gideon bit his lip. "Right. You know all that. Moving on." He lifted the first paper and began to read aloud.

--

Two hours later and it seemed Peter had more in his name than any of them had realized. He was rather particular, too, what went to whom. There were a few individuals listed none of them had ever heard of. This whole ordeal was difficult enough without the protocol. To lose a loved one is terrible; to lose him publicly is far worse. Everyone sees your tears and knows of your lack of sleep. There is nowhere to hide. But, finally, they came to the last page. Each of them sighed with relief in turn. Gideon cleared his throat and began.

Aslan stands beside me as I write this, not dictating but still telling me what to say. To my siblings, Susan, Edmund and Lucy: You may wonder why nothing has yet been left to you. That is because I have a rather queer request. If something should happen to me and you find yourselves reading these words, Aslan tells me only this. In a day's time, you are to leave on a hunting trip for the famed White Stag.

At this, each of them straightened. A chorus of confusion barraged Gideon and he held up a hand. "Hold on, there's more." With curiously knitted brows, the three quieted.

I know this must be confusing to you all, as it was for me, for hunting is hardly a part of mourning. However, Aslan wishes that you go to the Lantern Waste as soon as possible. He says that when you reach your destination, you will understand. Please see the letters to each of you.

High King Peter the Magnificent, Knight of the Noble Order of the Lion

Gideon handed three folded letters to them, each with a name scrawled in Peter's familiar messy handwriting. "And that is all, Your Majesties. I imagine you would like time to read your letters in private so, if I may, I will take my leave."

They nodded and waved cordially, not really paying him any attention before standing and hurrying to their rooms.

--

Lucy was already slicing open the seal with her fingernail as she strode down the hallway. She turned her doorknob and swung inside, letting the door slide from her fingers to shut, and sat down at her vanity.

_Dear Lu,_

_I don't even know how to begin this letter. We've always been close, you and I, and I can't imagine us separated. To think that if you are reading this, I will never again swing you around in my arms or tuck you into bed at night, pains me deeply. I love you, Lu. I don't know how else to say it. I'm not a poet or even much of a diplomat; I'm just your brother. No matter what has happened to me, you must know that. I would never leave you intentionally and with Aslan in mind I have the feeling it shant be as long as we might think before we see each other again. Don't despair, Valiant. You must believe that though I am lost, not all is. _

_With love,_

_Peter_

Lucy cried herself to sleep that night.

--

Susan had an ounce more patience than Lucy for she found an envelope opener and comfortably seated herself in the window before she pulled back the red wax.

_Dear Su,_

_Whenever I've been in trouble I've turned to you. Lucy and Ed are my little brother and sister. You, though, you're my best friend. There have been times you've hated my guts and a time or two you very nearly pushed me off a cliff, but you always come through. So I'm turning to you one last time, Susan. I need you to be strong for the others. Not because you're the oldest, but because you can do it. Where Lucy will burst into tears at every little thing and Ed will be angry, you can still be a Queen. I know you and I don't care how much you might want to shut the door right now and never face the world again, you won't. You will stay strong and keep our family together. I love you, Su, and I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't. _

_With love,_

_Peter_

Susan cried herself to sleep that night.

--

It was with trepidation and guilt that Edmund finally brought himself to open his letter. The weight of his actions was crushing him and he knew Susan's harsh words were right. Taking a deep breath, he leaned against the cold stone wall and began to read.

_Dear Ed,_

_I know you're angry and you're feeling rash. You're probably blaming yourself whether you had anything to do with what happened to me or not. I can assure you this: no matter what, I know it wasn't your fault. So stop acting like an idiot and listen to me. I know you've always felt you had to make up for your past sins but I think you ought to know I forgave you the moment I knew you were going to be all right. How could I stay mad at my only brother for long? You have to believe me, Ed, or you'll never stop beating yourself up over ancient history. Don't let it drag you down any further, especially without me there to pull you back up again. I love you, Ed, and I don't want to see you hurting because you couldn't forgive yourself when I already have._

_With love,_

_Peter_

Edmund never got to sleep that night.

--

A passing farmer on his way to the market caught sight of a swinging door and, at the stray drops of blood on the stone path, feared the worst. He let himself in only to find that he was much too late. A beautiful, foreign woman lay cold on the floor, once tan skin an unnatural white. Her dark hair was splayed around her and her blank eyes reflected emotions the dead should never feel. The gaping wound on her chest was shocking enough, but what really drew his attention was clutched in her hand: a piece of red cloth. Gently, the farmer pulled it from her fingers and gasped as he recognized the Mark of the Lion.

--

Fitted in extravagant black, the King and Queens descended from their rooms for the funeral, barely glancing at each other. Peter would have been astonished to see how grown-up and composed his siblings appeared, though only Lucy had yet to break 25 so it shouldn't have been surprising. Susan's veil gave her the look of one so far removed from her surroundings no one dared approach her to offer condolences. Lucy's low-scooped, feathered gown bordered on rebelliously inappropriate, as though she wished to lighten the mood for Peter's sake. After all, every time she had worn the dress before, he had taken great delight in giving some unlucky nobleman a black eye for staring too long. The presence of Edmund's sword and chainmail put everyone in a somberly strangling mood, for they all seemed to sense he was more than shocked and depressed by his brother's untimely death. There was something deeper brewing in his eyes. The something that only flickered there when he prepared for battle.

The three watched as Peter's body was laid by his generals in a shallow boat on the beach. Nobles and friends stepped up to honor their lost king but his family hardly heard their kind words. Finally, with a slow heave, the small boat was pushed out to sea. Oreius lifted his bow and Gideon raised a burning torch to light the arrow, but Susan stopped him with a hand on his arm. Both centaur and man knew what she wanted and, with a slight incline of his head, Oreius signaled for the Queen's bow to be brought out.

The familiar, worn ivory beneath her fingers offered her a small comfort as she swept her veil back and fitted an arrow. Those close enough winced at her bloodshot eyes, red-rimmed from endless crying. Gideon lit the tip of the arrow with fire and she raised it, taking aim. The unmistakable crimson arrow landed in the side of the boat and quickly engulfed it in flames. It seemed that even the water burned.

--

It was dark, the kind of dark that is a tangible thing. Peter could not be sure whether his eyes were open or closed, let alone where he was. Out of nowhere, he glimpsed red. Focusing, he realized it was fire. Peter knew he should be afraid, for the flames circled him, licking ever closer. Yet something told him the fire could not touch him. As he glanced around, he saw a figure, separated from him by the flames. She came nearer and by the way she moved, the High King knew it was Mona. His heart flashed with a dark anger that frightened him, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. She stopped a few feet from him, the wall of fire still separating them.

"This is how it was always going to be, Peter," she whispered, though it felt as though she were shouting in his ear. He was lost again, floundering, and she smiled slightly, as though sensing his confusion. "No, not you and I. But what is to come. We made our decisions, and though they were unwise and unjust, they still lead to this, Peter. All roads lead to the same conclusion. There are no forks to destiny."

"What destiny? Darkness? Flame? The end?" He gestured around them.

She shook her head, waving a hand to her side. As she did so, images appeared. Images he recognized. A tall tower with a clock in it. Fantastic machines for transportation. People with smiling faces he knew. Mona waved her hand again and the images disappeared. Peter met her eyes through the flames.

"Home. For both of us."

For the first time, Peter saw the ugly red mark on Mona's breast. He gasped as it began to spread and tried to reach for her over the fire but she held up a hand.

"It's all right, Peter. It's my time," she reassured him, "But it's not yours. I'm irrevocably sorry I forced you here when you don't belong yet. You still have a life to lead." With that, she turned her back on him and began to walk away, but he heard himself call her name. Pausing briefly, she blew him a kiss and then disappeared as though she had never been there at all. He wondered if he were hallucinating.

--

The farmer rushed into the marketplace, dropping his cart at his stall as he rushed for the palace. It stood high on the hill above the town but with the bloody lion crest still clutched tightly in his fist, he ran all the way. He came to the gates, panting and gasping for breath. Glancing down at the reason for his mission, he feared the worst for the second time that day.

--

Susan, Edmund, Lucy and Gideon gathered in the stable, the former three in black riding outfits. A strange sense of foreboding filled them and, unbeknownest to the others, each of them tucked Peter's letter somewhere on their person for safekeeping. Gideon reminded them that this was part of Aslan's plan and that there must be a good reason for it. It was that statement alone that kept any one of them from breaking down at any given time. They had decided to leave without letting everyone know, for how could they explain Peter's odd will? The Pevensies bid Gideon farewell and mounted their respective steeds. They galloped from the gates, creating a gust of air that tore the lion from the farmer's hand. It floated away to land on the sea.

Gideon questioned the exhausted man and he spilt his story: the open door, the dead Calormene woman, the now long gone ripped tunic, and Gideon vainly attempted to piece the story together in his head.

--

Peter was running through the woods, branches whipping him in the face and leaves crunching beneath his feet. He didn't know how he got there, just that he was. He could hear pounding hooves behind him and knew he was being chased. Once again, his brain told him to be afraid but his heart coaxed him on. He ran with every ounce of power he had in him. As the hooves slowed and eventually stopped, he heard voices.

--

The farther into the Lantern Waste they went, the less troubled they were by Peter and the serious matters that awaited them back in Cair Paravel. They became carefree, cheerful, child like. Peter wasn't dead and Edmund hadn't killed anyone. They forgot all their troubles as though they had been erased. Each of them saw flashes of the Stag up ahead in the trees, but was far more intrigued by this lamppost for the moment. Yet the Stag beckoned to them and they set off on foot, pushing through the brush and foliage.

Where three monarchs and a mythical beast had entered, four children emerged.

They were wrapped in too-big coats and tumbled over each other into a room coated with dust and trapped in time. They stared at each other and at the solid wooden back to the wardrobe that blocked them from their home. Three pairs of eyes met stormy gray ones and wondered why they were so happy to see them sparking with life and emotion.

Peter. Susan. Edmund. Lucy.

Magnificent. Gentle. Just. Valiant.

Each with their mistakes but forgiven so wholly they were allowed to forget.


	8. Epilogue

Each Pevensie found the letter from their older brother in time

**Epilogue**

Each Pevensie found the letter from their older brother in time. Susan's was folded and beneath her blouse, close to her heart. Edmund's was tucked in his boot. Lucy's was rolled and tied to her belt. They didn't know why they had these small reminders of Narnia or what they meant, for none of them could remember the horrifying events that lead to their return, but they held them very dear. Peter's words to each of them were reassuring no matter the situation and those papers grew thin and yellow from wear.

--

The mysterious Calormene gypsy woman's death was never explained. Clues would come to the surface every once and a while but Gideon and Tumnus were too busy acting as Regents to bother with them. And so the mistakes of the Kings of Old were struck from the memory of Narnia.

1300 years later, High King Peter would kneel by an ancient grave, nameless except for the word 'Gypsy', and wonder why his heart painfully broke in his chest.

The End 


End file.
